


Catharsis

by cochleargarden



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha Will Graham, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, BDSM, Caning, Discipline, Dom Will Graham, Dom/sub, M/M, Punishment, Sub Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23640151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cochleargarden/pseuds/cochleargarden
Summary: In the bedroom, Hannibal unlocked the cabinet lodged deep in his walk-in closet. He inspected the implements lining the walls. Paddles and straps and tawses and canes and so many others he got to test with Will. Some he loved, some he hated, some that didn’t quite have the desired effect.Tonight, he was looking for punishment.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 91





	Catharsis

The phone rang, two, three, four times, and relented.

Hannibal took a moment to compose himself, his chest heaving, breaths coming short and ragged. On his back, Will was no better, a panting dead weight caging him in. Hannibal rubbed his damp cheek against the mattress, bringing his arms closer to his chest and savoring the sensation of Will’s weight pinning him down.

He hadn’t been able to enjoy these kinds of moments much during his life. As an alpha, he was often expected to take charge by his sexual partners. The few sex workers whose services he had solicited had indulged his needs for the right amount of money, but it was never entirely satisfying. Though he could play at submission and find sexual gratification in the act, Hannibal needed more. He craved overwhelming domination. Not only firm hands to hold him down but also a mind to pierce through his own, tear him apart and rebuild him brick by brick.

To this day Hannibal still considered meeting Will nothing short of a miracle. While they didn’t often indulge in power play in the bedroom, one could argue that an alpha giving themselves to another was, in itself, an act of submission. And thus, whenever Will held him, either to subjugate or to worship, Hannibal’s heart sang.

Soft nips at his shoulder brought him back to the present. Will rolled his hips against his backside, driving his knot harder against Hannibal’s swollen prostate. Hannibal moaned, arching his back and baring his neck, a gesture of submission usually attributed to omegas.

The phone rang again.

Will sighed.

“Take it, I don't mind. It may be important,” Hannibal said, his voice scratchy and raw.

Will rolled them on their sides, pulling on the knot still lodged snug inside Hannibal, who whimpered at the sensation but went pliantly, back pressed to Will's chest.

Will stretched back to grab his phone. “Graham speaking. Yes… Yeah, I heard about it… Really?... Yeah, I know... Just send me the location… Got it…”

Hannibal's eyes fell closed, a tired sigh escaping him. He had hoped to spend more time with Will before going to work. Hectic schedules had kept them apart, long enough that each of the scarce evenings they could spend together felt stolen now.

The phone thumped against the table again and Will's arms wound around Hannibal's middle. He pressed a kiss to Hannibal's nape, his stubble rubbing soft skin in a familiar, comfortable burn.

“I suppose you won't stay for breakfast.”

“I'm sorry. The crime scene is far from here. It'll take me a little while to get there, I have to leave now.”

“I won't delay you then.”

Hannibal reluctantly unwound Will's arms from around his waist, and moved his hips to disentangle them. Will's knot had mostly deflated, but was still hard enough for Hannibal to hiss as his sore rim was stretched open again.

“Thank you for last night,” Will said with one last kiss, “I'll see you for dinner?”

“Certainly. Seven thirty?”

“Seven thirty. I'll call you if I can't make it.”

And with this Will slipped out of the bed, taking with him the warmth and comfort they had built during the night. Hannibal remained unmoving, entangled in the sheets, his eyelids heavy as lead, body exhausted and sore. He listened to the soft sounds and clinking of Will moving around the room and ensuite, gathering his clothes. Once dressed, he came to the bed once more to lay a parting kiss on Hannibal's cheek. He nuzzled the crook of his neck to scent mark him, in typical alpha possessiveness, before leaving.

Hannibal lingered in bed for a long time. One hand slid down the mattress to touch his belly. A purr rumbled out of his chest as he felt the light bump of his abdomen, his insides still full of Will's seed, filling him to the brim the way he was taught only an omega could be satisfied with. But Hannibal was satisfied, physically, mentally, emotionally. He pressed on the bump a little and was pleased to feel the gooey substance drip out of his hole, down his perineum and on the mattress.

Despite his state of bliss, he forced himself out of bed. He had work to do and clients to see.

On his way to the ensuite, more cum dripped down his thighs, slipping to the floor. He fought the urge to kneel and lick it clean, loathe to waste a single drop of Will's spent. Perhaps later. Perhaps with Will's shoe pressing between his shoulder blades and keeping him down.

His stomach cramped up, his alpha body unfit to receive another alpha's seed like an omega, and he hurried into the bathroom, washing off Will's spent with great reluctance.

In the shower stall, as he perfunctorily cleaned up, he was caught by a wave of distress, a deep feeling of abandonment that he hastily crushed. Will usually stayed to help him. Although in practicality Hannibal could figure out the logistics on his own, Will's touch and presence always served to soothe him.

He held onto the promise of Will's return tonight, and went through his morning routine, the cramps in his stomach finally gone.

Shaking off the inner turmoil of the morning proved harder than Hannibal expected. Will’s absence rang in the back of his mind like wind chimes, a low, constant hum that pulled his attention off his tasks. He kept touching the heavy wristwatch Will gifted him; a substitute to his leather cuffs, much more discreet and that could be worn in public.

Beyond the anguish of parting--quite reminiscent of subdrop, if Hannibal were honest, even though they had done nothing the previous night that would have garnered such reaction--it turned out that Hannibal, most likely because of his morning distraction, had not, in fact, thoroughly cleaned himself of Will.

With every patient he saw, he found himself holding on tightly to his composure as his insides acted up, trying to reject the remnants of cum sticking to his inner walls. Each single hour was torture, and more often than not he found himself drifting off, his mind silencing his clients entirely.

This was unacceptable. It left him uneasy, restless. Such neglect was unbecoming of him and needed correction. He made a note to inform Will of it later tonight.

The constant discomfort was fraying his nerves. In between clients, he rushed to the small adjoined bathroom, tried to get rid of the feeling, but he was empty. He took medication to alleviate the pain, but these were only temporary.

He found himself cutting short a couple of appointments, dismissing his patients a few minutes too early. This was unprofessional. Unacceptable. One more thing he would have to tell Will about.

Eventually, the sensation faded, and a few hours after lunch he was no longer fighting off waves of pain. But the damage was done. This fiasco of a day stuck to him like tar he couldn't wash off. After the door closed behind his last patient, he found himself unable to focus to gather all his notes in their respectives patient records.

Today it seems, he would have to leave his work unattended. Unacceptable.

“You seem agitated.”

Hannibal's hands stilled briefly where his cutlery was working through his cut of veal. He took a moment to compose himself, before resuming his movement. “It's been… a difficult day,” he said, each word carefully measured.

Will considered him a moment, his eyes boring into Hannibal, who avoided his gaze, feigning great focus on his own plate. Although Hannibal knew he ought to speak and seek forgiveness, voicing a fault had never been an easy task for him.

Minutes ticked by, Hannibal gathered Will had postponed the conversation for after their dinner, but he spoke again, “Something you'd like to talk about?”

Hannibal mulled over his answer, pushing his food around his plate. He realised how childish a picture he depicted, and immediately stopped, setting his cutlery down to finally look up at Will. The kind, patient gaze he met encouraged him to speak.

“I've been… fairly distracted today,” Hannibal said carefully, “I found myself unable to focus on my patients, sometimes shutting them off entirely. This is unbecoming of a doctor of my standings and reputation, and a blatant mark of disrespect to them and the trust they place in me.” Once he started, he couldn't stop and the words rolled off his tongue just as the weight on his stomach loosened. “I found myself dismissing them several minutes before the end of their sessions, taking away their allotted time for myself. With each patient, increasingly so. It wasn't all of them, but any at all was already damning.” He took a quiet breath, momentarily breaking eye contact with Will but looking at him again before Will could berate him for it. “And at the end of the day, I went home without completing my work. I left all my notes unattended.”

He paused, feeling a burning, shameful heat climbing to his cheeks and to his eyes. He couldn’t hold the eye contact, mortified by the fiasco that had been today.

The seconds ticked by and silence remained. Realising he was fidgeting with his hands, Hannibal folded them in his lap. How unbecoming. He once more held onto his wristwatch for courage.

“Look at me.”

Hannibal looked up automatically. The command was spoken in a soothing voice. Will was never one to dominate through anger, only with firmness.

“What happened?” he asked, his eyes still soft though curious.

Hannibal opened his mouth, but no word came. He ducked his chin, feeling the heat creeping up his cheeks once more. “I thought of you,” he finally admits. “Every minute of every hour, I longed for your scent, your voice, your embrace. This morning already, I was reluctant to let you go. I wanted to feel you however I could, but the effects proved counterproductive, and caused me more pain than comfort throughout the day.”

Will took it in, eyebrows pinched in concern. “You didn’t clean up?”

“Perfunctorily.”

“How do you feel now? Are you in pain?”

“No, it passed after a few hours.”

“That’s good,” Will said, but the concern still clung to him. He leaned forward, hands extended palms up in invitation, and Hannibal’s own met them in the centre of the table. Will squeezed them gently. “I apologise for leaving so suddenly this morning, I could have told Jack I wasn’t available. I'm responsible for not taking proper care of you.”

“No, I don't blame you. We aren't officially mates, you don't owe me anything, let alone your undivided attention."

“I still left you, discarding our routine in favour of something else. For this I want to apologise.” He brought Hannibal’s hands to his face to kiss the backs of his fingers.

Hannibal knew it was no use arguing. “I forgive you, although I don't resent you.”

Will smiled, kissing his hand again before setting their joined hands back on the table. “But…?”

“But I can't forgive myself for letting the day spiral into… such a loss of control.”

Will nodded in understanding. He squeezed Hannibal’s hands one last time before letting go and leaning back. His eyes flickered over Hannibal, appraising. Then his gaze hardened, even though it retained its warmth. A shiver ran down Hannibal’s back. He brought his hands in his lap once more and straightened further in his chair.

“Are you done eating?” Will asked.

Hannibal's plate was still half full, but they both knew he wouldn’t be able to eat any more in this state.

“Yes, I believe I’m done.”

“Get a glass of water, you look parched,” Will said as he stood. “Leave everything here. Go upstairs and pick an implement of your choice. I'll be waiting for you in the study.”

The napkin was folded and put back beside the cutlery. Hannibal didn’t dare move as Will circled the table and passed behind his chair to leave the room. He listened to his footsteps as they receded deeper into the house and up the stairs. Now alone, Hannibal took a deep breath, held it in his lungs, and released it out in a quiet sigh. He stood and followed Will’s instructions.

In the bedroom, Hannibal unlocked the cabinet lodged deep in his walk-in closet. He inspected the implements lining the walls. Paddles and straps and tawses and canes and so many others he got to test with Will. Some he loved, some he hated, some that didn’t quite have the desired effect.

Tonight, he was looking for punishment. He chose one of the rattan canes, razor sharp, that left him trembling and crying, and afterwards, that left his skin tight and throbbing for days. Nothing less will wash away his fault. With a slightly shaky hand, he picked it up, and made his way to the study.

Will was waiting for him, reclining in one of the high backed armchairs, legs elegantly crossed. He looked up at Hannibal’s arrival, his eyes darting down towards the cane. Hannibal felt his gaze bore into him, tracking his every movement as he came closer, and finally stopped in front of him. He handed Will the cane.

Will took it without breaking eye contact. “Thank you. Take off your clothes, you may fold them and leave them on the table.”

Hannibal obeyed, quickly undressing, leaving his jacket on one end of the table and his shoes under it. Everything else was neatly folded and arranged in a pile beside his jacket. He turned to Will again, standing straight, hands held at the small of his back, offering himself for Will's scrutiny as he waited for more instructions.

Will's eyes didn’t rake over his naked body. They had held each other enough time to know the other’s body by heart. He searched into Hannibal’s gaze instead. With a movement of his head he indicated the other armchair of the room, this one low backed but no less lavish.

“Stand against the back of the chair. Bend down, hands on the seat, legs straight.”

Hannibal did as he was told. As he bent over the back of the armchair, presenting his rear to Will, a knot formed in his stomach. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was apprehending; the pain, the humiliation, dissatisfaction perhaps. Still, he trusted himself to Will. He couldn’t look back, but he could retrace Will’s movements through the room with sound alone. The ruffle of clothes as he stood, the quiet thump of footsteps as he approached, the tap of the cane on a clothed leg as he stood behind Hannibal.

For a moment silence reigned, heavy and solemn, save for the blood rushing in Hannibal’s ears.

Then, Will said, voice low and grave, “Why are we here?”

Hannibal took a deep breath. He looked down at his hands, pressed flush against the seat of the armchair, focused on the present moment rather than slipping away into memories of the day.

“I was reckless, and as a result neglected my work,” he said, opting for something simple. “We had agreed not to let our relationship negatively affect our lives outside of our houses.” He paused. “But I did.”

“How so?”

“I was selfish, and the consequences affected not only my own work but also my patients. You asked me to be honest about my feelings, and to rely on you when any degree of distress overtook me, and yet I didn’t. Instead I let failure upon failure accumulate throughout the day.” Every word seared his tongue, and he found himself craving the relief of punishment more and more with every passing second.

When he fell silent again, Will tapped the cane against his own leg, making soft thumping sounds that had Hannibal clench his muscles instinctively, shivers already coursing through him.

“How many strokes do you think you deserve?”

“Fifty,” he said without hesitation, “Until I bleed and the fault is torn from me.”

Will didn’t answer right away. Hannibal was tempted to look over his shoulder, but he knew he would be berated for moving without permission.

“Thirty,” came Will’s voice.

Hannibal chewed on his bottom lip, eyes falling closed. “Forty,” he tried to negotiate. When Will didn’t answer, he pleaded, “Please... I want to be brought to tears, I want...”

“What you want and what you need are different things. Thirty,” Will repeated firmly. “No more, no less.”

Hannibal bit his lip, and nodded. He felt the cane brush against his backside, and lowered his head, inhaling deeply.

The cane snapped against his skin, leaving a searing trail behind. Hannibal bit down on a whimper. The first stroke was always surprising, the pain flashing anew even though it was hardly the first time he tasted it. This cane in particular bit into the skin with a vengeance, not leaving any trace of pleasure in its wake. Which was why Hannibal hated it, which was why he needed it.

The first eight strokes pulled a few muffled groans from him, had him re-accustomed to the sensation, soak in the cuts in his cheeks and in his thighs.

The fourteenth tore a whimper from him, his fingers clenching on the seat as the pain radiated through him. He willed himself to stop fidgeting between each stroke, flinching at the slightest brush, at the mere anticipation of the next blow.

By twenty, he could no longer hide his cries. His whole body was trembling, legs almost giving out on him. The back of the chair held him up, preventing him from moving forward and away from the cane. He ground his teeth, but with each cut they parted open around a scream. His vision was blurry, but he dared not take his hands away from the seat, not until Will allowed him to.

The twenty fourth pulled a scream from him. Will didn’t relent, and in this moment Hannibal both loved and hated him. The cane cut like a knife, like sizzling iron. Each mark was a line of fire. He felt those that turned red, those that turned purple, and those that nearly broke the skin. He knew those that would leave bruises, those that would take weeks to heal. He loved and hated them all, craved and needed them all.

He lost the count. He was nothing but pain. Blessed, unforgiving pain, coursing through him like electricity. Waves after waves almost sharp enough to be nauseating.

Eventually, his legs gave out and he slumped against the chair. A long, croaked whine fell off his tongue, pitiful and broken. His skin felt tight and bloated, cheeks hot and red. A thick trail of saliva dripped down his mouth, pooling on the seat of the armchair between his shaking hands. The cane tapped against his calves and he flinched. Will's voice reached him but he couldn't understand the words. Another tap on his thigh had him whimper, forcing his legs straight again. The next stroke stole his breath, a scream tearing through his throat.

He lowered his chin, eyes and jaws clenched shut. Another stroke, his legs buckled, knees knocking together, toes curling. He grabbed onto the edge of the seat, nails clawing at the leather. Sobs fell freely from his lips. They seemed to form words, pleas perhaps. He couldn't tell. There was too much pain.

Another tap against his leg, the sound of Will's voice. Hannibal straightened, moved by instinct more than anything, obeying his commands like he promised to, vowed to, all those weeks ago when he accepted Will as his Alpha. His sole Master.

He stood, racked with sobs and shudders, waiting for the next stroke. None came.

A warm, calloused hand settled on his lower back instead. It stroked his damp skin gently, in time with soothing shushes. Forgiveness. And this, more than the pain, touched Hannibal deep in a place he had thought locked for decades, only now reopened for Will.

Hannibal breathed deeply, in through his nose, out through his mouth, slow and steady. He lay face down on the couch with his head cushioned on his crossed arms, still naked save for a towel Will wrapped around his upper body.

Will was talking to him; Hannibal was vaguely aware of the soothing tone of his voice, but couldn’t make out the words, buried under a fog of bliss. He was rubbing soothing lotion over his abused rear and thighs, from his waist down to his calves for good measure. The striking coldness receded to a pleasant warmth the more Will’s hands massaged it into him. It stung where the welts had raised and where the skin was broken, but this pain was nothing compared to the kiss of the cane.

It hurt still, his body tingling with the aftershock, now and again rocked with tremors as the adrenaline ebbed away. He couldn’t help a low purr, again a typically omegan behaviour. It mirrored the humming silence of his mind, swimming in subspace. The drop would take some time to settle in, it always did, but he knew Will would be there to catch him when it happened, as he had been every single time without fail since they started seeing each other.

Once done, Will washed his hands on another towel and set everything back into the first aid kit. Hannibal was half asleep by then, slowly sinking into a cloud of quietude. Will’s weight lifted off the edge of the couch and Hannibal shivered when the towel around his shoulders was taken away, soon to be replaced by a heavy comforter enveloping his frame. A hand brushed his hair back from his forehead for a kiss to be placed on his temple.

With what was left of his strength, he turned to face the back of the couch, scooting over to make room for Will, who settled down behind him. He held him so close, Hannibal swore he could feel Will’s heartbeat against his back.

Trapped between the couch and Will’s body, Hannibal felt safe. Light. Clean. Now purged of his fault, he finally deserved the tenderness of Will’s embrace.


End file.
